Fin's POV
Yartar slept behind me, its glow soft and warm compared to the sharp chill creeping in up here. The further I got from the lower district, the cleaner the streets became — too clean, like they'd been scrubbed of personality. Cold stone. Faint enchantment lights floating overhead. Even the fucking trees looked like they'd been cut with a ruler.
I tugged my dark hoodie tighter around me — something Helga had stitched together from scraps we'd looted off those noble brats. It wasn't exactly stealth gear, but it blended well enough. I kept my head down, feet light, and followed the upper walkway that curved along the cliff toward the academy.
Eventually, the spires came into view.
Elmer Academy for the Magically Gifted.
Even the name felt smug.
The place was massive. Gothic towers loomed like jagged stone teeth, dark windows watching like eyes. The main gates were sealed shut, thick bars wrapped in a shimmering arcane ward. I stopped just short of the courtyard path, crouching behind a fountain and peering through the bars.
Turrets.Not the kind you'd man with a bow.
Arcane constructs — floating orbs glowing faint blue, rotating slowly. Three of them hung above the front archway like bored sentries. I watched one pulse, discharging a tiny arc of static into the air. A warning. A threat.
"Huh," I muttered. "Well. That's not ideal."
Ali's voice, crisp and softly feminine, hummed in my ear like always now.
"Front gate is warded with anti-intrusion protocols. Arcane turrets are configured for proximity response. High lethality. Estimated time-to-death if detected: 1.2 seconds."
"Fantastic," I whispered, deadpan. "Nice to know we're working with a generous safety buffer."
"Correction: generous for the turret."
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "How the hell does a school have better defenses than a military outpost?"
"Because rich people fear embarrassment more than death."
I actually chuckled at that.
Ali continued, almost thoughtfully.
"The ward matrix appears to be keyed to student badges and staff glyphs. We could potentially fabricate an entry token, but the response time is unreliable. I suggest an alternative entry point."
"Great. So, backdoor sneak-in. Love that for us."
I shifted around the side of the gate, keeping low. There were no guards—not physical ones anyway—but the ambient pressure in the air made my skin crawl. It wasn't just magical security. There was cursed energy here, laced deep in the stone, seeping through the cracks.
"Underground?" I muttered. "Of course it's underground. It's always fucking underground."
A light shimmer appeared — not visible to anyone else — marking a faint path through the side hedgerows toward the back perimeter of the school. Old maintenance access points, servant tunnels, maybe. Probably abandoned for centuries. Which meant fewer wards… or at least less lethal ones.
I rolled my shoulders, checked my satchel — rope, flint, potion, emergency meat pie. You know, the essentials. My cursed energy simmered faintly in my core now, no longer wild like before, but still stubborn. Still new. I could feel it humming under my skin like a second heartbeat.
"Alright," I whispered, cracking my neck.
"Let's sneak into a heavily warded magical institution and try not to die."
I slipped the satchel back on before raising my hand, opening my Inventory.
The moment my fingers brushed the smooth, impossibly light fabric, a tiny thrill buzzed up my spine.
[Item: Cloak of Invisibility (Harry Potter) – Rare]
The Cloak.
It didn't shimmer. It didn't glow. Hell, it barely even looked special — more like a faded grey bedsheet someone forgot to wash. But the second I pulled it over my head, I vanished.
Literally.
No weird outline. No shimmer. Just… gone.
Even my cursed energy quieted a little under it. Muted. Like the cloak muffled more than just light. I wrapped it around my head, it slowly dropped itself around my body. It was pretty surreal, I knew I was wearing it but I could still see through it.
"Ali?" I whispered, voice low.
"Cloaking confirmed. Visibility dropped to undetectable. Arcane turrets are now unable to register your presence."
"Good. Let's hope that includes motion sensors."
I stepped out from behind the hedge, inching toward the gate. I crouched down, I used my cursed energy + parkour to scale the wall, landing on the other side, each footfall was deliberate, placed with as much care as I could possibly put. The turrets hovered overhead, gently rotating, their blue cores pulsing in a lazy rhythm. One drifted slightly as I approached, its rotation shifting just a bit toward the movement of air. My breath caught. I froze in place, heart hammering.
One beat.
Two.
It drifted away again, disinterested.
I exhaled silently.
"Jesus," I mouthed.
"Incorrect pantheon."
I rolled my eyes and took another slow step forward.
A second gate. T
This one was also closed, but the bars were wide enough for me to slip between. Barely. I sucked in my stomach, squeezed sideways like a damn worm, and stumbled through with the grace of a drunk raccoon.
I was in.
The courtyard was dead silent.
No guards. No students. Just empty stone paths and towers looming above like disapproving parents. The turrets remained fixed on the outer perimeter, not looking inward. Probably figured no one was stupid enough to get this far.
Guess I'm special.
My eyes scanned the nearest tower. "Where's the cursed energy strongest?" I mumbled
I focus on the energy, I could feel its draw. I looked forward to see a dakrend aura leaking form the large double wooden doors to the main campus.
A soft shimmer flickered again in my vision — the faintest of energy hovering ahead, guiding me past shadowed windows and quiet statues that somehow felt way too interested in me. I crept low, hugging the walls, my cloak fluttering just barely with every breath of wind.
As I passed beneath an archway, I felt it — a heavy pressure settling in the air. Cursed energy. Thick and bitter, like rot under fresh snow. It made my skin itch.
The System chimed softly in my head.
[Area Discovered: Elmer Academy – Cursed Zone Registered]
[New Potential Questline Available – Investigation: Cultic Presence Detected]
[WARNING: High-Level Cursed Energy Detected. Proceed With Caution.]
"Yeah, thanks," I whispered. "That's exactly what I needed to feel better about this."
The path led me toward a narrow side entrance — an old maintenance stairwell half-concealed by overgrown vines. I brushed them aside, slipping through the archway, boots silent on the cold stone.
Inside, the air changed.
Damp. Stale. The corridor sloped down slowly, winding deeper beneath the academy. No lights. No sounds. Just the faint hum of magic and the soft rustle of my cloak.
The air thickened with every step. I could feel it crawling under my skin, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what I'd find at the bottom.
The stairs spiralled down for what felt like forever, the air growing colder and weirder with every step. The walls were lined with symbols — not ones I recognised exactly, but they had that same look I'd seen in Helga's books. Soul magic-adjacent.
Runes etched in blackened stone. Spirals intersecting with jagged symbols, like someone had written a language by stabbing the wall repeatedly.
"Ali," I whispered, tracing one lightly with my finger. "What am I looking at?"
"These runes are partially derived from soul-binding sequences. Crude, but active. Someone's trying to mimic true soul magic—without understanding it."
"Awesome. Definitely not horrifying at all."
The staircase finally ended, opening into a wide underground chamber. The moment I stepped in, I stopped.
Because standing at the centre of the room was...
...her.
A woman.
Not just any woman.
She looked like she'd been carved out of the deepest thirst trap in human history.
Long, snow-white hair that cascaded down to her waist in silken waves. An elegant black-and-purple dress that hugged everything it shouldn't. Hips. Thighs. Breasts. Like, massive. Unreal.
Her chest had no business being that structurally sound.
Her skin was pale, almost porcelain, but warm somehow — glowing faintly in the candlelight flickering around the chamber. One hand rested lazily on a curved staff, while the other absently flipped a page of a thick leather-bound book floating mid-air in front of her.
I froze.
Actually froze.
What the hell?
She hadn't noticed me yet — or maybe she had, and she just didn't care. She was reading. Or pretending to. The way she stood was too perfect, like she knew exactly what effect she had on people.
My brain blanked.
"Ali," I whispered.
No answer.
"Ali."
"…Yes?"
"What the actual fuck am I looking at?"
"Based on your heart rate and increased body temperature… a very attractive woman."
"No shit she's attractive. She's… bad."
"Bad? As in dangerous?"
"No. Bad as in bad. Like — goddamn."
"…Ah. Understood. She is, as you would say, 'certified baddie material.'"
I almost laughed.
Almost.
But my body was still too focused on not doing something dumb like stepping on a rune or letting out a high-pitched squeak.
The woman looked up.
Just for a second.
Her eyes glowed faintly — a soft violet with no pupils, like galaxies trapped behind glass. Her gaze passed over the room… and paused.
Right where I was standing.
Under the cloak.
Hidden.
She tilted her head slightly.
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Her lips curled into the faintest smile.
Then, she turned her gaze back to the book and continued reading like nothing had happened.
I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.
"She saw me," I whispered.
"Unlikely. She may have sensed a disturbance, but the cloak is still functioning."
"She definitely looked at me, Ali. I felt it in my nuts."
"…That is not a reliable sensor."
I ignored her.
There was something about the woman — not just the looks. She was calm. Too calm. Confident in a way that said I own this place, and probably everything in it. And if she was standing here in the middle of an underground soul magic basement, that probably meant she was...
Someone dangerous.
But I didn't leave.
Not yet.
There was something about the woman — not just the looks. She was calm. Too calm. Confident in a way that said I own this place, and probably everything in it. And if she was standing here in the middle of an underground soul magic basement, that probably meant she was...
Someone dangerous.
But I didn't leave.
Not yet.
I stayed perfectly still beneath the cloak, controlling every breath. No footsteps. No swaying. Just the faint buzz of cursed energy humming low in the walls. I could still feel it, radiating off the room like heat from a forge. But now, I needed more than just gut feelings.
I needed information.
Carefully, I inched toward the edges of the chamber. The stone walls here weren't just stone — they were covered in pinned parchment. Dozens of sheets layered like scales. Notes. Clippings. Pages torn from books. Some were fresh. Others were yellowed and curling at the corners.
A research wall.
Obsessive.
I took one look and felt the pull. My eyes flicked from line to line, Fast Reading kicking in like muscle memory.
[Skill Activated: Fast Reading]
Words became shapes, shapes became facts.
A map of Faerûn—dozens of red circles drawn over various cities and regions.
"Ten Towns… Baldur's Gate… Candlekeep…" I murmured under my breath.
Each circled location was followed by a smaller note, scribbled in frantic handwriting.
"Entire village drained. No survivors."
"Three dozen sacrificed to summon shadebeasts."
"Child soulbound to gemstone—unstable, lost control, exploded."
My stomach clenched.
Each entry was tied to a date. A timeline. Two decades of horror.
And all of them?
Connected by a name that kept appearing over and over in red ink.
"Kael'ven Morvayne."
I blinked. No way.
Kael'ven Morvayne. The name was etched like a curse itself. Leader. Prophet. Monster. Titles swirled beneath it like chains dragging through mud.
Every page painted him differently — to some, a false messiah offering "freedom through binding." To others, a nightmare wrapped in flesh, who bent souls to his will like playthings. Sorcerers whispered of his control over death. Politicians feared his influence. Soldiers told stories of entire units wiped out by "something wearing his face."
He wasn't just feared.
He was worshipped by the wrong kind of people.
And here?
This whole wall? It was dedicated to him. My father. That name, it was his name.
Kael'ven Morvayne.
It hit me like a slap.
I stood in front of a whole wall of proof—images, hand-scrawled diagrams of rituals, photos of towns in ruin, mentions of noble houses that may have funded or harboured him in secret—and every inch of it pointed to one thing:
He was more than I thought.
More than even Helga had told me.
More than some cult leader who went rogue and got killed for it.
This wasn't just a man chasing power, he was a man who nearly changed the entire face of Faerûn.
And I was his son.
I swallowed hard and glanced down at my bracer, he was still silent.
The woman was still there.
Still reading. Still pretending like the weight of all this paper didn't matter.
But I knew better now.
And Kael'ven Morvayne? He was the god they were all still praying to.
I don't believe this is where the cursed energy is originating from. I feel it a bit better here, it's being channelled through this location, yes. But the source, what I'm feeling, is coming from deeper. Beneath even this place.
I blinked, my gaze sliding back to the woman again.
"She's not the source?"
"No. But she's close to it. And she knows where it is."
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
So what was she, then?
I crept forward.
Every step was silent, my cloak hugging tight to my form, rendering me all but invisible. Still, I moved like the shadows themselves had ears. Because they probably did, knowing this place.
The woman didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe, for all I could tell.
She stood before a polished desk, stone legs carved with old runes I couldn't decipher, a single candle flickering beside her. Her long, snow-white hair spilled over one shoulder like it had been sculpted from light itself.
And she was reading.
I inched closer.
Too close.
If I sneezed, I'd headbutt her shoulder.
The book she had open wasn't some grimy tome or war-beaten codex. No, this was leatherbound. Sleek. Hand-stitched. The front was embossed with an elegant design of intertwining glyphs.
No title.
But I knew what it was.
A diary.
A soft, red satin ribbon marked her current page.
I leaned in, just a little more, eyes flicking over the lines of text.
"Experiment #18 failed. Transference incomplete. The vessel's soul resisted anchoring, resulting in rapid decay."
"Recommend triple-layered glyph binding and direct incision of anchor point prior to soul infusion. Will consult master's final notes regarding pre-binding conditioning."
Soul magic.
Again.
Always soul magic.
There were margin notes too. Precise handwriting. Angular strokes. Whoever wrote this wasn't just a mage — they were methodical. Obsessed. Maybe even brilliant.
And it didn't look like she was just reading it.
She was… studying it.
Her gloved finger slowly traced a particular paragraph, one discussing "splitting fragments of essence between living hosts".
What the fuck.
Was she planning a ritual?
Already in the middle of one?
My fingers clenched unconsciously at my side, the way she was circling something with her fingertip — a rune shaped like a burning eye, crossed twice by jagged lines.
And then—
Her finger stopped.
Her head tilted.
I froze.
She turned her face slightly.
Not enough to see me, not directly.
But enough that her eyes narrowed, just the faintest hint of suspicion flickering there. I didn't breathe.
She stared at the air beside her for just a second too long.
And then—
She smiled.
Almost… amused.
She slowly closed the book with a faint thump.
Then spoke, quietly and almost playfully.
"Curious little mice don't usually get this close."
My heart stopped.
Fuck.
Maybe she was just talking to herself. Being weird. Maybe that smile meant nothing.
Yeah, sure, and maybe those cult documents were just bedtime stories.
I took a slow, cautious step back.
Then another.
The cloak still shimmered perfectly over me, no sound, no trace—just one very nervous kid backing away from an eldritch bad bitch with a book on soul-flaying magic.
Almost made it to the outer edge of the chamber—
FWUMP!
A massive purple hand — no, claw — slammed down inches in front of me, the stone floor cracking under its weight.
"OH FUCK—!"
I threw myself backward just in time, the impact sending a shockwave through the room that nearly knocked me on my ass. The air around me flickered as my cloak strained against the pressure, momentarily glitching like a bad invisibility mod.
The hand wasn't just big.
It was wrong.
A twisted, semi-transparent thing of flesh and spirit — sour, burning, like sulfur and rot.
The hand reared up for another swipe, curling its grotesque fingers like it could sense me now, like the first swing was just a test.
The woman didn't even turn.
She stood there, hands clasped behind her back, head tilted slightly toward me.
"Such a noisy little ghost," she said softly. "You must be very, very special."
My heart was pounding in my ears now.
I could feel the presence of soul magic as it surged around the creature — a second arm now forming from the floor itself, claws sprouting from shadow.
I had about five seconds before this thing tried to yeet me into a wall.
"Ali—options?"
"None that don't involve running like hell."
"Great. Love that for me."
Ducked as the claw took another swipe at me, the woman's smile grew wider.
"Oh, fuck it."
I pulled the cloak off.
The shikigami paused.
So did the woman.
I stood there, breathing hard, cloak in hand, heart pounding so loud I thought it might echo off the walls. My whole body was tense, every instinct telling me I was about to be flattened.
But the purple hand just… hovered.
The woman slowly turned.
Her eyes met mine.
Silver. Calm. Like moonlight over a still lake — the kind of lake that drowns people when they get too close.
I raised one hand lazily and forced a grin. "Hey. Sorry to interrupt your... death dungeon. Love the ambience, by the way. Very cursed chic."
Ali hissed in my head. "Are you insane?"
"Probably." I mumbled.
The woman blinked. Once. Then stepped forward, just enough for the clawed hand to retract slightly behind her, melting into the shadow like it was part of her dress.
She studied me, slowly, like I was some oddity in a museum.
The woman didn't move.
Not a twitch.
Then slowly, like a curtain being drawn, she turned.
Oh damn...
She was bad.
"You're not one of the students," she said, voice smooth as velvet but sharp at the edge. "You're far too young."
Tall, white-haired, skin like porcelain left too long in moonlight. Her dress hugged her figure — high slit, low cut, every detail made to tempt, distract, dominate. Her eyes were deep purple, and the smirk that curved her lips said she already owned me, and I just hadn't realised it yet.
Momma didn't raise no bitch though.
The woman's heels slid against the stone floor, she was closing the distance between us. She stopped a few feet away, the scent of lavender and ash curling around her.
"And here I thought all the roaches skittered when the lights came on," she said, voice silk over steel. "But you? You walked right into my nest."
"Yeah, well…" I swallowed. "I'm not like other roaches."
Ali's voice spoke in my head, "That line was terrible."
I ignored her.
She chuckled at that. Legitimately chuckled.
"Well then... child," she said, folding her hands behind her back. "Why don't you tell me who you are, and what you're doing here?"
I tilted my head. "Only if you tell me first"
She stopped behind me. Close. Too close.
Her breath brushed the back of my neck. "I'm a disciple. Of the only one who ever mattered."
I turned slowly.
Her smile sharpened.
"Kael'ven," she said.
My blood froze.
She watched the shift in my face like a hawk watches its prey's final twitch.
"You know the name."
I stared at her.
"I've heard things."
"Mmm. I'm sure," she said. "Whispers. Rumors. But none of it's real, is it? Not until you see someone like me standing in front of you — breathing, believing, still loyal."
I forced a breath out through my nose.
"You're a cultist," I said.
She didn't deny it.
"Name's Saelira," she said. "High Initiate of Kael'ven's original circle."
"Oh, do tell," I replied.
Saelira wagged her finger "Nuh uh, why are you here? A child—no, something else in a child's skin—sneaking into a highly regarded and fortified Academy, past my guards. That's not normal."
I shrugged. "Curiosity. Gets the better of me."
"I could tear the truth out of you," she said. "Piece by piece."
I met her eyes. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"
She paused.
The woman tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You're not normal. I can feel it. Your aura… it buzzes wrong. Familiar, but... not."
Her gaze dropped — just a flicker — to my arm.
Specifically, to the bracer.
The warmth of it pulsed against my skin like it knew we were suddenly under a microscope.
Her silver eyes sharpened, something slipping in them. A crack in the calm.
She stared for a beat too long.
Then—
"…That's the weapon…"
Barely a whisper. Like she didn't mean to say it out loud.
My chest tightened.
Before I could move, before I could even process it—
She looked at me.
Eyes wide. Lips trembling.
And then—
"Brother."
The word dropped like a blade into the room.
I blinked. "What—"
She surged forward.
And hugged me.
Wrapped me in her arms like I was a long-lost puppy she'd found on the side of the road. Tight, strong, warm — perfume and something else, darker, clung to her like the second skin her dress didn't cover.
I stood there. Frozen. Completely. Fucking. Lost.
"What the fuck is happening," I muttered, arms awkwardly hovering in the air like I was holding invisible groceries.
Ali, completely deadpan: "This is… unexpected."
"No shit!"
"Language."
"I will curse until I die, Ali."
The woman — Saelira — pulled back just slightly, cupping my face like I was precious cargo and she had just found me inside a busted treasure chest.
"You don't know, do you?" she whispered, her voice trembling with something too soft to be comforting. "You really don't remember me."
I stared at her.
Wide-eyed.
Still not moving.
"…Lady," I said, slow and careful, "I have no fucking clue who you are."
She smiled.
Soft.
Sad.
"I'm your sister."
I stood there, stiff as a board.
Sister? Sister?!
What kind of twisted-ass world was this?
My breath hitched. Her perfume clung to me, too sweet, too close, too wrong. My pulse thundered like a war drum in my ears.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
Fuck. This.
I shoved her arms off me — not hard, but enough to break the moment — and bolted.
"Wait—!" she called, voice ringing out behind me. "Wait, Fin—!"
Not a chance.
The cloak still clutched in my hand flapped behind me like a cape as I Flash Stepped, the world blurring around me into streaks of stone and cold and echoing footfalls.
Get out. Get out. GET OUT.
I didn't care how beautiful she was.
I didn't care what she said.
I didn't care if she cried or bled or promised me godhood.
If someone randomly hugged me and called me brother in a cursed basement where I could taste the air, it was time to leave.
I hit the stairs in seconds. Two at a time. Maybe three. My legs didn't even register the effort — the leftover charge from cursed energy still danced like fire through my limbs, guiding me forward.
The stone door.
My exit.
Home free.
I slammed my palm into the edge, bracing to push it open—
It didn't move.
I blinked.
Then I saw it.
Purple.
That same sick, otherworldly purple I'd seen moments before when that arcane arm swiped at me. It now coiled like smoke across the edges of the stone, seeping into the cracks, pulsing faintly with corrupted energy.
Locked.
Magically.
"The exit is sealed."
Ali's voice in my head was firm, cool. Almost clinical.
"It appears to be soulbound arcana. Reinforced from the outside."
I didn't need the science right now.
I needed out.
I growled and cocked my fist back, channeling cursed energy into my fist.
Focus.
Everything dark and jagged rose to the surface, and I let it flood through my veins, swirling into my arm.
My fist glowed dark blue, crackling faintly.
"Break—" I snarled, and punched the fuck out of the door.
The impact rang out like a thunderclap, cursed energy slamming into enchanted stone with a crackling explosion.
Dust showered the floor.
I stumbled back, arm tingling from the backlash.
The door?
Not even a scratch.
Not. A. Fucking. Scratch.
I panted, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
Behind me, I heard footsteps descending slowly.
Saelira.
"I told you," her voice echoed down the stairwell, slow and sweet like syrup, "you're not ready to leave yet."
I didn't turn around.
Didn't look.
My hands clenched into fists as cursed energy sparked across my knuckles again.
"Ali," I muttered, eyes locked on the door. "Any bright ideas?"
"…None that don't involve escalation."
"Figures."
I exhaled, jaw tight.
Trapped.
In a cursed basement.
With a woman who just called me brother.
What the actual fuck was my life?
My breath came fast, shoulders heaving as I stared down the purple-wreathed door. No way out. At least not the way I came.
Behind me, I could hear her. Calm steps, like she was strolling through a damn garden and not stalking me like some cultic maniac.
"Fin," she called gently. "You don't need to run."
I didn't answer. Just turned slightly, keeping my side to her, my eyes darting for any stairwell, any corridor, anything not glowing purple and cursed.
She stopped a few meters away, her arms folded under her chest. Still beautiful. Still composed.
Still fucking terrifying.
"I'm not the enemy," she said, that same velvet-laced voice washing over the room like it had every right to command the space. "I know how this looks — but you're important. I just wanted to talk."
I snorted, eyes narrow. "Yeah? Most people who just want to talk don't use haunted grabby hands to say hello."
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That was for your own safety. I wasn't sure what you were… yet. Now I know."
I flinched slightly, but stood my ground. "Let me guess. You think I'm 'the chosen one'? Some magical prophecy baby?"
"No." Her smile faded. Her eyes turned deadly serious. "You're our father's legacy. And we need you if we're going to bring him back."
I blinked.
Did she just—?
"You need me?" I spat, taking a step back. "Lady, I spoke to the guy. You know what he said? He made jokes while a soul-corrupted wolf decapitated a dwarf like it was nothing."
"I know," she said quietly. "He's… not what he used to be. But he can be restored. Rebuilt. With us together, we can—"
"No." My voice cracked across the space like a whip. "There is no we. You might be his little cult heir or whatever, but I'm not. I'm not part of your fucked-up family reunion."
She took a step forward.
I raised my hand.
"Don't."
She paused, tilting her head. "You'd attack your own sister?"
I looked her dead in the eyes. "I don't have a sister."
Then I thrust my palm forward, and Igniroared to life.
A crackling wave of fire exploded from my fingers, lighting up the chamber in molten orange, the heat warping the air as it raced toward her.
Saelira didn't flinch.
She simply raised her hand, and a crimson-purple shield bloomed to life in front of her, catching the flames and absorbing them like they were a warm breeze. Sparks flicked off her dress harmlessly.
"Tsk." She sighed. "That wasn't very brotherly of you."
I didn't wait for a second round.
I turned, ran three steps up the nearest pillar, and kicked off the wall toward a narrow staircase curling up and out of the chamber.
"Trajectory… unstable. Elevation angle is poor."
"Don't care!" I hissed, landing hard on the base of the stairs, almost tumbling.
I caught myself and sprinted.
Up. Up. Up.
"She's insane," I muttered to myself. "This whole place is fucking insane."
Behind me, her voice floated upward. Calm. Amused.
"I'll give you time, Fin. But we'll talk again. Soon."
I didn't answer.
Didn't look back.
Just kept climbing — lungs burning, cloak flapping, Ali muttering in my ear as I tore through the underground like a bat out of hell.
End of Chapter.
Word Count - 4883